


Frozen Heart

by Fomalhaut



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Mourning, Parent - child like relationship, Past Relationships, Sand's past, Storm of Zehir, teacher background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fomalhaut/pseuds/Fomalhaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An outlook on Sand's past as a young mage and teacher, and the meeting of someone he has never forgotten. He has already lost too much back then, and will never make the mistake of loving unconditionally and believing in eternal happiness again - but his world is soon to turn upside down once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Heart

Cold sweat dripped down Sand's temples as he awoke with a start. His azure eyes darted about for a few seconds before he closed them and sighed deeply, then wiped away something that looked suspiciously similar to a small tear from the angle of his right eye.  
 _Why?_  
The question echoed in his mind as he tried his best to calm down. No, it wasn't a nightmare, but a wonderful dream, one that he would have loved to last forever, or to become reality. From time to time, he had dreams about _her_ , he could hear her sweet laughter, kiss her silky hair, hold her hand and look into her eyes. Those eyes that sparkled with the colour of the setting sun over the Sea of Swords. The worst thing was not dreaming about her, but waking up and know with painful certainty that he would never, ever have the chance to look into her sunset eyes again.  
Sand sat up in his bed and opened the drawer of his end table. He had recently decided to settle in Crossroad Keep, and to stay now that the Shadow War was over, hoping that the missing Knight Captain would return one day – but he kept that precious object, the last link he had to her, close. He would let no one discover it, though: in his shop in the Docks, he used to keep it hidden between the pages of an incredibly large and heavy book, behind two jars containing suspicious concoctions; now, at Crossroad Keep, his drawer had two hidden double bottoms, and it was in the second one, which could only be opened magically.  
He finally took it in his hands with the utmost care: a round medallion bearing the symbol of Mystra, broken in half. He put the two pieces together and turned it, so that in the pale moonlight he could read the thin carving on its back: _R. K._ , and, a little above it, _Sand_.  
He smiled sadly, but nothing more. His last tears had dried up long ago, but deep inside, he knew all too well the wound on his heart would never completely heal. No matter it was all over, and more than a hundred years had passed since he let go of her hand.

Sand was a young elf with a brilliant career lying before him. Growing up outside Luskan, though he knew very well about the suspicious rumours and the bad reputation of the city, he used to admire the Hosttower mages, sure that the greatest knowledge lay within the tower's walls. But he was also aware that a fairly inexperienced wizard, no matter how powerful and smart he may be, would hardly be accepted into their ranks without too many questions asked. This was the reason why, a few years after his 200th birthday, he packed his belongings, sold some of his possessions, and used the money to pay for any costs that might arise as he departed on a journey southwards. When asked about his destination, he would act mysterious and enigmatic, but the truth was even he didn't know for sure. He wanted experience, knowledge… and for an adventurous spirit like his used to be, a journey was the best way to achieve it.  
Amn, Tethyr and Calimshan were all famous for their magical artifacts. Too bad Sand's money ran completely out by the time he reached Tethyr, for in Amn he couldn't resist buying a few thick books.  
It was two years since he had left his home when he knocked on the door of the Wizard's Academy in Darromar, capital of Tethyr, to offer his services. He needed money, and quick. Little did he knew that soon money, the continuation of his journey or joining the Hosttower mages would become the last matters on his mind.

Sadly, he was given the first class – full of rich parents' children who didn't have a clue about the wizard business, or aspiring wizards with the IQ of a handful of butterflies, or simple-minded kids who didn't find anything better to do in their spare time. Nearly all of them would undoubtedly be expelled within the first month – but the parents' wrath would strike down on the poor teacher.

"Ehm!" he tried to make his pupils to pay attention, since they merrily continued talking when he entered the classroom.  
A few of them looked up, but then resumed their conversations. A couple of them were cutting up their books and throwing paper balls at each other, others making origami with the pages, a single boy dressed in extremely fancy and expensive clothes kept on blowing pink bubbles by snapping his fingers (obviously thinking himself a great wizard), while another few were drooling on their desks as they slept.  
Sand's patience was wearing thin. He took two of his thickest books out of his magic bag and slammed them loudly on the desk. Finally silence came, only the last remaining pink bubbles' popping could be heard.  
"So" he said, throwing ugly looks at the – for the most part – obviously disinterested faces "my name is Sand, and I will be your teacher. Let's start with a quick question, to see how prepared you are to become wizards: which goddess do we call _The Lady of Mysteries_?"  
"Umberlee!" shouted a tall, green-haired water genasi boy, busy bending the pages in his book to look like waves.  
Sand fought the urge to throw _Horrid Wilting_ at him, and decided that a _Silence_ spell would be enough.  
"Wrong. Anyone else?"  
"Cyric!"  
"Oh, for the love of…" Sand's fingers were twitching, eager to cast any destructive spell that comes to his mind.  
Finally, while all the other kids began to giggle, shout names of random deities or simply decided to keep on sleeping, he noticed a small raised hand in the last row.  
"You" he pointed "so?"  
The little elven girl stood up, giving a little push to the loudly snoring half-orc on her right.  
"Mystra, also known as _The Mother of All Magic_. She controls the Weave."  
She immediately sat down again.  
"Good answer" Sand said, not minding too much; at least, not the whole first class was totally hopeless "now, let's start with the basics…"  
During the lesson, he avoided asking more questions for the fear of setting the Academy alight in rage; he finally understood why the headmaster was so happy he showed up, and why most of the teachers who got the first class before had resigned.  
Once the lesson was over, he was almost relieved to walk out of the classroom, the kids storming out immediately after him, almost knocking him down on the corridor.  
 _Just a little patience_ , he thought, _just a little patience_.  
He needed only a fair sum of money to continue his journey, since he was given a quite simple, but spacious flat to live in, not far from the Academy. And there was no way he would beg on the streets; it was his arcane talent that would help him out; he swore to turn all those ill-mannered fools into wizards.  
Silently fuming, he wandered slowly down the corridor, when he heard someone calling him.  
"Teacher! Teacher!" it was the little elven girl from before "you forgot this!"  
She panted, almost collapsing under the weight of the huge tome she was carrying.  
"Why, thank you" he smiled "oh, and well done with the answer, too!"  
"Oh, it was nothing…" she blushed, and avoided eye contact "oh, sheesh, gotta run! They'll find out I'm gone and…"  
"Wait!" Sand grabbed her arm, half out of curiosity and half of fear of losing the only pupil who seemed to pay attention during the lesson "what's your name?"  
She kept her stare on the floor, kicking some invisible dust, then whispered:  
"Rustyn Khelba."  
Sand scratched his head.  
"For the love of Mystra, _who_ gave you that name?!"  
For it instantly reminded him of three elven words, and put together the name sounded something like _crumbling ice death_.  
"The nurses at the orphanotrophy."

Sand sighed and placed the broken medallion back in the drawer, then lay back and stared at the ceiling.  
It was over, over forever.


End file.
